


Rollercoasting

by runrarebit



Series: Altered Trajectory [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Bad Sex, Child Abuse, Confusion, Crepes, Dyslexic Steve Harrington, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of Steve's awful family, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Steve Cooks, Steve and Robin bonding, Steve freaking out, Steve thinking about Billy, Steve thinks Billy's hot, Steve's creepy weird gross pool, Tommy H and Carol being selfish, Tommy H and Carol use Steve to make Tommy H feel better but it's more complicated than that, Tommy H's homophobic freakout, Underage Drinking, Unwanted Crushes, emotional/psychological but not physical child abuse, internalized ableism, mentions of cronenbergian monstrosities, oblique references to the AIDS crisis, substance use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-13 17:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runrarebit/pseuds/runrarebit
Summary: I could just call this one the intermission between"Bird on the Wire"and the next Billy-focused part of the series, but in the end I decided to call it Rollercoasting, because poor Steve gets pretty much trapped in an emotional roller-coaster regarding his interpersonal relationships. Anyway, I did say I was going to be mean to him- and to anyone who reads this, I guess, unless you're here for  Carol/Tommy H/Steve action (Don't worry, it's not permanent. Do worry, it makes Steve unhappy). On the plus side there will be Steve thinking about Billy and Steve and Robin hanging out, so there's that...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR WHOLE FIC AS FAR AS I KNOW SO FAR: References to emotional/psychological child abuse, homophobia, internalized homophobia, ableism, internalized ableism, a brief mention of the AIDS crisis, mentions of biphobia (in the context of people tending to refuse to believe bisexuals exist), regressive ideas about what causes homosexuality, consent issues- in as much as promises will be made that the people making them do not intend to keep, as well as inadequate checking in and attention paid to whether everyone's having a good time or is entirely happy about what's happening- and I am not entirely sure how to tag some of it because it could be seen as skating down that thin edge where a slip ends up in sexual assault territory but I'm not sure it quite slips enough but YMMV- Please do tell me if I've missed any. 
> 
> Um, this fic should be in three parts. I'm pretty sure I know what happens in all of it, but things may change as I finish it. I hope you enjoy it. I hope you don't mind the Carol/Tommy H/Steve stuff too much- and don't worry, as far as the series is concerned Billy/Steve is endgame. Thank you all for reading!

When he pulls up in front of his house he just stops, sits there for a bit.

At first his head is empty, no surprise there, but then the reality of coming back, alive, arriving home to the house as cold and dead as it always is, sinks in— it’s not a good feeling.

For a moment he tries to convince himself that someone’s here, waiting for him, it’s just that it’s so late that the sky’s already starting to lighten in the east so they’ve gone to bed. It doesn’t work.

At least he got his keys back. Apparently the fleeing Russians weren’t in the mood to take his beemer with them when they went. He’s still not sure how Hopper recognised them, but the man did, and handed them over just before they were all rounded up by the military.

Hah. He hasn’t seen Billy— _Hargrove_ since.

He hopes the guy is ok.

He hopes the guy isn’t chained up in some top-secret lab somewhere having horrible experiments conducted on him—

He’s probably ok. He _has to be_ ok. If he’s not ok—

Why does he care?

Well, no point pretending anymore. Old Stevie boy has a bit of a _crush_—

Wow has his life been an emotional rollercoaster these last few days. Just. _Wow_.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been driving. With the way his head feels he kind of thinks he shouldn’t have been driving— but if he didn’t drive himself then who was going to? They’d left him waiting around in some empty room by himself for who-knows-how-long, asked him maybe ten questions, having already decided he knew nothing, then pretty much dumped him out on the street. Way to make a guy feel important, US military.

Eventually he drags himself out of the car, fetching his bat out of the boot before locking up. It’s strangely comforting, the weight feeling better than the much lighter bat he’d been using earlier.

He kicks his shoes off once he’s in the door, strips off the blood and puke and who-knows-what-_else_ stained Scoops Ahoy uniform, and pads upstairs completely naked. He is going to have a shower. Yes, he kind of feels like he might keel over and _die_ if he doesn’t lie down soon, but he is going to have a shower first.

He feels _disgusting_.

Such an emotional rollercoaster.

But hey, he’s still _alive_. Wow— _how is he still alive_?

Seriously, he should have run out of luck this time. Thought he had a few times there— like right at the end, when Billy— He shudders, fighting the image of flesh and bones and above all else _spikes_ that his mind is trying to conjure up. Nope. He does not want to think about that right now.

His head is _killing _him. They didn’t even give him anything for it when they checked him over before leaving him in that room. So, yeah, he wouldn’t usually, but he stops off by his mom’s bedroom and steals a couple of Percocet from her bedside table, swallowing them dry before he heads to his bathroom.

On the list of horrible, just _horrible,_ things that have ever happened to him, realising he’s attracted to Billy Hargrove probably isn’t the worst. Like, compared to pretty much everything else since Dustin discovered the Russian broadcast, since before then, since he invited Nancy over one night and she invited _Barb_— it’s—

Nothing. It’s nothing.

Still, you know. Not great.

It’s not even what he should be worrying about right now. What he should be worrying about is the fact that he’s almost a hundred percent sure he saw Billy turn into some monster made of flesh and bone and tentacles and spikes and shit and holy hell was that _terrifying_. So, yeah. That’s what he should be worrying about.

And he is worrying about it, but apparently his mind is capable of worrying about more than one thing at once. Who knew? Case in point, he finds a guy hot, guy in question probably wouldn’t appreciate it if he ever became aware of that fact, guy who wouldn’t want him to find him hot also maybe turned into some fleshy, bony, spiky, scary monster for a bit there—

Also, he’s worrying about whether he’s supposed to tell anyone about it. Not, you know, the fact that Billy Hargrove is apparently a thing that does it for him, but that Billy Hargrove may not be entirely _human_—

He does not want to have to tell anyone— and not just because that would involve admitting it out loud and admitting it out loud would somehow make it more _real_. If he does tell someone he’s pretty sure they’re going to react _badly_. Badly enough that Billy might— he’s not sure. Get in trouble. Get whisked away to a top-secret lab. Lose his temper at all the kids when they do their obnoxious best to— _harass_ him or something— into admitting what he is.

Does Billy even know what he is? In fact does _he_ even know what Billy is? Because that was not a Demogorgon, or a Demodog, or like either the little Mind Flayer or what he saw of the big one— more _spikes_ to start with.

So many more spikes.

It makes him shudder, just thinking about it.

What must it be like, to _be _that? Either Billy truly does not give a fuck or that’s got to be pretty upsetting— maybe he should go check on the guy later, once he’s had a nap or something— on second thought maybe ring Max and ask her how he is— Good thing he has all the kids’ numbers— just because Billy said he doesn’t actually _hate_ him does not mean the guy wants him hanging around and bugging him all the time.

Or lighting his cigarettes—

That was bad of him. He will acknowledge that, but it’s how he used to light them for Tommy or Carol and he’d done it before thinking the first time— the _second_ time, well—

What is wrong with him?

Why is it that when he’s single and Billy isn’t looming at him, intimidating him, _beating_ him he finds the guy really, really, really _hot?_ Oh fuck.

That is not something he ever wanted to know about himself.

He leans the bat against the bathroom wall before he turns on the shower as hot as he can stand it and climbs in, resting his aching head against the tiles. He needs to not find Billy hot. Billy might not hate him but Billy does think he’s a _retard_— also he had been so sure Billy was going to hit him again when he was on the floor of the bathroom with Robin and—

If he knew a girl who found a guy hot that had beaten the absolute _shit_ out of her— and might do it again at any moment— he would think there was something pretty seriously wrong with her. Or she was an idiot— so maybe that’s all it is. He’s an idiot.

Not to mention Billy might be fucking Mrs Wheeler. _Karen_. It was the way he said her name— Maybe he’s imagining things. He has to be imagining things— it would hurt Nancy— not that he’d blame Mrs Wheeler, with a husband like that—

For a moment he imagines being married to Mr Wheeler. Going to bed with Mr Wheeler— his brain skitters around the thought of going to bed with Billy— fuck. Yeah. Ok. He cannot blame her one bit.

Oh God.

How long has he been hot for Billy? Was he hot for the guy before they were forced to spend so much time together? Was he hot for him while the guy was _beating him half to death_? While he was fucking _terrified_ of the guy?

Oh God. He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t even know if it was ending up in Billy’s lap or when the guy’s hand ended up halfway up his asscrack as Billy shoved him under the elevator’s door that did it. How messed up is it that the only person other than himself that’s touched him anywhere in that general region since he and Nancy split is Billy fucking _Hargrove_? Not that the guy meant to. Just— a slip of the hand.

He hopes like hell Billy didn’t notice where his hand went. If the guy did and ends up ever thinking about it— He’s almost used to Billy now, almost not _afraid_ of him, but if Billy ever realises he inadvertently copped a feel— he is so _dead_.

He lathers up some shampoo and very, very carefully starts massaging it into his scalp, wincing at the way the foam makes the cuts on his face sting.

He kind of feels like he should apologize to Robin. To start with she had to deal with him having hysterics— the ones he’d pent up while the Russians were _beating_ him— about Billy being shot and probably _dead_ when he came round tied to that chair with her. That had not been cool. Then she’d done her best to distract him with that conversation that he’d thought was her telling him she used to have a crush on him, but was in fact the precursor to the whole _actually a lesbian_ conversation of later—

And, ok, he’d love to pretend it was after this first misinterpreted confession that he’d decided that, actually, she would make good girlfriend material— but the reality was he was already making that decision in the elevator out of some self-defensive reflex of being trapped with Billy and kind of wanting to crawl back into the guy’s lap—

He kinda wants to apologize to her as well for being hot for Billy when the guy can be such a _pig_. Half the reason he ended up sitting so close to her the whole night in the elevator was because of the outright _hostility_ Billy was showing her by the end, in looks if not words— and the fact that he could tell she was nervous trapped in that small space with the guy when he was doing his storm cloud, rage bomb thing. Even after Billy had gone up on the roof you could almost feel him up there, the weight of his presence smothering them like the stink of his cigarettes—

Hot for Billy or not, he’d really only started maybe, kind of, not minding him so much as a _person _when he’d seen the worry in the guy when he was talking about Max, the fear that she wasn’t safe, that he wasn’t there to beat the shit out of whatever was threatening her. And El. Why _El_ though? The way she hugged him— that was a weird bit of unexpected bonding—

He’s kind of both happy for them and a little jealous. He doesn’t think she has a problem with him or anything, but he’s never really worked out how to get her to warm up to him. He doesn’t blame her for being wary of people, at least from what’s he’s heard— and he knows he hasn’t heard _all of it_. All that asshole pseudo-scientist guy did to her—

And how can someone do that to _anyone_, let alone a little kid?

She’s so brave. Braver than any of them.

Anyway, by the time Billy had turned up not dead, and both him and Robin came down from whatever that shit was the Russians shot them up with, he’d been prepared to do what he did— which was confess how awesome she is. Or at least that’s what he thinks he was doing— With maybe a bit more emphasis on wanting to _date _her than he really felt, instead of just hang out with her all the time which is what he actually wants.

Is she still going to want to hang out with him now? Since, you know, the mall’s been destroyed and they’re probably out of a job. Probably not. Why would she? They’ve all already pretty much established that she is at least ten times cooler than he ever was, even back before he was a loser.

Eventually he convinces himself to grab the conditioner, applying some and letting it sit while he carefully washes the rest of his body. The bruises have well and truly come up now— in fact he’s surprised he can’t see an outline of a Russian fist beat into his belly.

He has no idea how he managed not to tell Robin, the Russians, Billy, Dustin, Erica, and everyone in that cinema how hot he finds Billy— Well, maybe that Russian asshole guessed when he kept going on and on and on about how they killed Billy once the truth serum or whatever it was kicked in— But maybe it’s because of how hard he’d been trying not to think about it in case the guy in question found out.

The fact that he’d rather tell them all about where Dustin lives than admit out loud that he is amongst Hawkins’s cockstruck idiots that think Billy Hargrove is the hottest thing in tight jeans is pretty sucky of him if that’s the case— Or maybe it was just— you know— Billy was dead, then Billy wasn’t dead, and his thoughts were scattering all over the place because of it.

Or, you know, no one actually _asked_.

It’s weird. At the time he thought he was doing the right thing with Robin— maybe not acting like he wanted to date her when he _doesn’t_— not that dating her would exactly be a _hardship_. They could have had a great time just hanging around and doing whatever that wasn’t, you know, _sex_. Though having sex with her probably wouldn’t have been a hardship either. Except they both don’t want that— which is a weird kind of relief.

No, what he means is when she told him about Tammy Thompson instead of saying something like “Funny, you know I sucked Tommy H. off once? Also I like guys. _And_ girls. What do you think that means? Because honestly I have no idea at this point” he’d been more focussed on trying to make _her _feel better. Which is good. He still thinks it’s good. But now he’s worrying that he accidentally lied to her— _by emission_? No. That’s— that’s like pollution or something. **_O_**_-mission_. That’s right. And that she might have found it more comforting if he actually _confessed_— but then Dustin and Erica and shortly after that _Billy_ might have walked in on that and— _Nope._ No way.

Maybe he should try and find a time to talk to her anyway, get some advice, now that he knows she’s also— well, she’s not, exactly, because she _just likes girls_. Or at least he thinks she just likes girls. She’s not— whatever he is.

Is he _bisexual_. Is that even really a thing? Like, whenever anyone talks about Freddy Mercury being bisexual it’s to say that he’s not, that he’s actually just— _gay_. Is he gay? Does he really like girls or is he kidding himself?

For a moment he imagines Nancy— Nancy naked, kissing her, kissing his way down between her breasts and over her belly and down until he could put his mouth— _Yep_. He _does_ like girls. Girls and guys. Huh. Does that make his dad right or wrong? Is he a fag or not a fag? A _half-fag_?

_His dad can never find out_.

Oh God. _What if his dad finds out_?

For all that his dad likes to call him _Fag_ as if it’s his name— when not calling him _Retard_— if the man actually knew he actually— Oh God.

Oh God.

Even under the warm spray he feels a shiver come on.

Yep. Billy Hargrove finding out that he’s hot for him would be a _million_ times better than his dad finding out he’s hot for Billy Hargrove.

So. He’ll just have to— Well, it’s not like there’s any danger of him and Billy— even the thought is— it’s _laughable_. Billy would rather— well, not _die_, but definitely _kill him_. And as long as he doesn’t end up with another guy— unlikely since there can’t be that many gay or bisexual or whatever guys in Hawkins and, whether or not _Will _is, Will is also a _kid_ and also, just, _no_— and since he _is _attracted to girls. The chances are he’ll get another girlfriend eventually—

Of course he can’t exactly bring any girls around his dad either, but that issue is generally a more _immediate_ one, if the girl in question is not in front of his dad then his dad can’t be all— _creepy_— at her. A guy— that would be more the thing his dad would be a dick to _him_ about.

If he hadn’t fucked absolutely everything up he could have gone to college, left Hawkins, and then he could— Why is he even thinking about getting a boyfriend? There’s that disease, isn’t there? Killing gays. That’s not good. Not at all— And even if there wasn’t, and even if he did find a hot guy who wanted him, that want wouldn’t last, not once the guy got to know him. You know, once the novelty of him being pretty or whatever wore off. Like with Nancy.

Like with Tommy and Carol.

Fuck.

The Percocet starts kicking in with that heavy, sweet _thunk_ at the base of his skull.

He really needs to lie down.

He rinses off as much soap and conditioner as he can be bothered to and climbs out of the shower, staggering back to his room and carefully climbing into bed not bothering to even towel off. The sheets stick to him uncomfortably but he doesn’t even care.

Eyes closed he tries to sleep, tries not to think, tries not to remember speeding across Hawkins next to Billy Hargrove, the way the guy had said he didn’t actually _hate him_, the smell of cigarettes he’d lit between his own lips pressed between Billy’s, the guy’s determination, the purpose with which he moved, the strength— those strong, square palms, those big, blunt fingers— over his on the walky-talky, wrapped around the baseball bat, raising the gun, squeezing the trigger—

Fuck. He’s getting kind of turned on—

Not _hard_. His body’s too tired, too _hurt_, too worn out and stretched thin, but he still kind of _wants it_.

Worst is that he’s still hot for Billy— even with the whole fleshy, bony, spiky, spidery, _monster_ thing. Not that he’s hot for what he remembers of Billy when he was a— it feels _wrong_, calling him a monster, especially after saying he didn’t think the guy was a monster in the car— but what else is he supposed to call it? Monster’s a monster, yeah? It’s not like Billy turned into an _alien_ or something.

It had been terrifying, going back into the mall to look for him once it became clear the gate was closed. He’d been thinking the guy was going to be dead or trapped as a monster or— _something_. But he’d just been lying there beside the bodies of what he assumes was the Russian and that smaller Mind Flayer, all intact and looking like himself again and not—

Actually why and how did Billy turn into a monster? Also he’s pretty sure the guy left at least _some_ things out when he spun that story about how he found out about— everything. Just from some of the things the guy said, especially by the end there. Like, you know, the mall not being on fire “this time.” There was more mention of that, wasn’t there? “This time”— or was it “_last time_”? When Billy was talking to Max on the walky-talky.

Probably the only person he can talk to about what happened is _Billy_ himself— but that might not be— Would Billy hurt him to keep him quiet? Once he would have said _yes_ in a heartbeat, but now—

He’s not sure, but he thinks maybe the other guy actually kind of _protected_ him at the end there.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

He is so screwed up. His dad’s right, if he’d been born into pretty much any less “fortunate” family he would not have survived. He’d have ended up some junky, faggot hooker selling his ass on some boardwalk somewhere—

Actually. That’s kind of a fucked up thing to tell a kid, isn’t it? Like, he was what? Nine? The first time his dad said that.

Isn’t that one theory why guys turn out gay? A dysfunctional relationship with their fathers? Maybe he’ll tell his dad that next time the man calls him Fag.

_He will not tell his dad that next time the man calls him Fag_. Oh God. His dad _would not like that_. His dad would either do that thing where the man completely ignores him until he starts to feel like he’s fading out of existence or act like he is the worst son that anyone has ever had ever and never let him forget it and then tell his mom and she’d be _very disappointed in him_.

—

He can’t remember the last time he didn’t disappoint her. In some ways it’s worse than the stuff with his dad— At least his dad doesn’t bother with the whole ‘If you’d just try a little _harder_ Stevie’ business anymore ever since Uncle Martin told the man he was a lost cause.

Poor Billy. If what Max said was true about the guy’s dad then someone should do something about it— in fact he’s kind of a douchebag himself, isn’t he? Now that he’s— _closer_ to the other guy he’s all worried, when before he just thought it kind of sucked but didn’t care enough to waste his thoughts on it.

It’s not like _he_ can do anything though. He’s pretty sure Billy wouldn’t be too happy if he decided to stick his nose into the guy’s business— And imagine how Billy would react if he told _Hopper_— He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Billy as tense as he was when he was talking to the man, not even when they were riding towards the monster at the end.

Anyway, would Hopper even do something? He’d like to think Hopper would do something, but he’s heard enough of people’s opinions about how boys need to _learn respect_ and be _toughened up_ to worry a bit.

His dad’s attempts to do either— if that’s what they are— feel less like they’ve toughened him up and more like they’ve left him kind of— _cracked_.

He’s being a loser again.

He needs to sleep. He should sleep. Maybe everything will all make sense if he sleeps— but maybe it won’t. No. He can’t think like that. Even if it doesn’t make any more sense it’s hardly going to end up making _less_ sense than it does right now—


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REMINDER OF TRIGGER WARNING FOR WHOLE FIC AS FAR AS I KNOW SO FAR: References to emotional/psychological child abuse, homophobia, internalized homophobia, ableism, internalized ableism, a brief mention of the AIDS crisis, mentions of biphobia (in the context of people tending to refuse to believe bisexuals exist), regressive ideas about what causes homosexuality, consent issues- in as much as promises will be made that the people making them do not intend to keep, as well as inadequate checking in and attention paid to whether everyone's having a good time or is entirely happy about what's happening- and I am not entirely sure how to tag some of it because it could be seen as skating down that thin edge where a slip ends up in sexual assault territory but I'm not sure it quite slips enough but YMMV- Please do tell me if I've missed any.
> 
> Um, do you all mind this too much? I kind of noticed I didn't get any comments on chapter 1- this isn't me begging for them btw, just checking in in case you're all hating how this is going. Not that I really know what I'll do if you do. Um. Anyway, like it or hate it thank you all so much for taking time to read it!

Something wakes him. For a moment he just lies there, breath caught, waiting— the phone starts ringing again.

Nope. No way is he getting up to deal with that. He flails at the top sheet, dragging it up and over his head, then squeezes his eyes shut and tries to fall back to sleep.

He hurts. A lot of him. Enough that it’s hard to tell where one hurt ends and another begins.

The phone rings out— a moment later it starts up again.

No. No, no, no, no.

He whines, turning to press his face against the pillow before the spark of pain it generates reminds him of what a fucking stupid idea that is. Maybe he should get up? In a minute—

The phone stops. He waits. He waits. He waits.

—

—

Something wakes him. He groans, almost growling when the doorbell goes off again. ‘Ok, ok,’ he mutters. ‘Keep your panties on.’

Because it might be Robin or Dustin or, who knows, _Nancy_, and some other stupid, awful, weird ass shit might be happening he drags himself out of bed, wincing a little at the way the headrush makes his head _throb_.

He’s almost out his door when he remembers he’s naked, stumbling back into his room to pull on a pair of sweatpants and the t-shirt he sleeps in.

‘I’m coming, _Jesus!_’ he shouts when he’s halfway down the stairs. It better fucking be important—

It’s Tommy and Carol.

For just a moment he wants to slam the door in their faces— but Tommy looks _wrecked_ and Carol looks worried. ‘What’s _happened_?’ he blurts out, and then he thinks, Jesus, yeah, _Heather_—

‘Oh my God Stevie!’ Carol cries out when she sees him. ‘What happened to _you_?! Were you at the mall when it collapsed too?’

_Collapsed?_ Oh, yeah, that’s right. That’s the story they were all told they supposed to tell if anyone asks. ‘Um, yeah. Closing up Scoops,’ he replies with an awkward little half-shrug. ‘Why? Who else was there?’

‘Uncle Tom and Aunt Janet,’ Tommy replies, voice wavering, ‘At least that’s what they said— and Heather’s in the hospital and they don’t know if she’s going to make it and my parents won’t be home until next week even though _I told them what’s happening_ and—' the guy just stops, standing there, looking confused and miserable and like he’s probably actually had less sleep than _he _has.

Tommy’s aunt and uncle— He didn’t see them, but— Well, Billy did say Heather had been possessed by the Mind Flayer and he kind of thinks, if he understood what some of the others were saying— though at the time he’d been a bit— _overwhelmed_ is probably putting it mildly— the Mind Flayer’s gross, fleshy body was made out of people. Tom and Janet Holloway— wow. Even if Heather’s ok—

He always liked Heather. Even after he was suddenly a loser, she was never horrible to him.

Carol is looking at him, her eyes big, like what? She expects him to know what to do?

‘_Stevie_,’ Tommy mewls and it feels like something _cracks_ in his chest.

He ushers them in, starts asking if they want coffee before he decides that the way Tommy looks _sleep_ would be a better idea and sleep and coffee don’t always mix, so he decides to make them both a hot chocolate— even though it is summer— because hot, sweet drinks in hard times is what his very, very vague memories of his grandma before she died tell him he’s supposed to do.

Then, of course, he asks if they’ve eaten, and when Carol says ‘No, not since last night. We’ve been at the hospital—' and honestly he feels exhausted and like shit and his head is _killing_ him, so he’s not really up to cooking anything, but he can manage a sandwich on store bought bread and maybe some chips. Actually, maybe he should eat too. Except he’s not hungry, so he just pours himself a glass of apple juice and sips it slowly.

It’s funny how easy it is just to fall into the same old patterns. Sitting around the kitchen table eating together, fetching drinks, cleaning up— except the whole time Tommy is perfectly silent, just staring at nothing, while Carol chatters away nervously, and he can feel it in the air between them all. Tommy’s fear and misery, the fact Carol doesn’t know what to do, his own hurt feelings.

Yeah, he needs to stop being a douchebag about it. He missed them. Seeing them reminds him that he’s missed them— but it also kind of pisses him off and now is _not the time_. Tommy obviously needs him.

As he gets up to clear the plates the dark-haired guy grabs him, pulls him in close, then buries his face against his belly. It’s funny, he thinks if it was almost anyone else in the world he’d tense up, maybe pull away after the last few days he’s had— but he’s still used to Tommy doing shit like this.

The same soothing humming noises start escaping that he’s been making ever since he was a kid when Tommy is upset about something and finally, _finally_ reaches out for some comfort— same as with his hands, the way they automatically rise to the guy’s hair, start combing through it, brushing it back from that freckly face.

He looks over at Carol, sees the _relief_ on her face. She’s not good at this shit— the simple, calm, comforting stuff— never has been— tends to get upset herself if someone else’s upset and at least half the time with her and Tommy it all ends in them having a fight. She knows it too, also probably knows having a fight with him while his cousin is in the hospital and his aunt and uncle have died and his parents are— well, being _themselves_ about it— would probably be pretty shitty. So she’s brought her boyfriend to _him_ so he can deal with it.

He tries not to think about that. It makes him feel— an absolute tangled cluster-fuck of emotions, some good, some bad, a lot of them confused.

‘What were they even doing at Starcourt?’ Tommy mumbles against his belly. It kind of hurts, the bruised flesh there a bit sensitive, but it’s not _too_ bad. ‘They didn’t even come to the hospital. Hargrove dropped her off and then disappeared, _apparently_, and then they couldn’t get a hold of them, but they got a hold of my _dad_, and he rang me to go deal with it, and— _Stevie_. Why didn’t they come and see her? I can’t believe they didn’t even come to see her and now they’re _dead_.’

There’s not really anything he can say to that, because all the comforting things he can think to say involve telling Tommy that it wasn’t his aunt and uncle’s fault they couldn’t come and see Heather because they had been melted down and made into a monster— God he’s stupid. There should be a million other things he can say, but the words don’t come— maybe it’s because he’s tired— and probably concussed— maybe it’s the leftover Percocet in his system— still he keeps stroking the other’s hair and making soothing sounds.

Eventually Tommy mumbles, ‘I’m tired Stevie. So fucking _tired_.’

And it’s so easy, too easy, to act like everything is the way it used to be and say, ‘Come on. Come to bed. You’ll feel better after a sleep.’

So he ends up ushering them both up the stairs, getting them each one of the toothbrushes he keeps for the guests he no longer has, making them brush their teeth and drink some water, and then stripping them down and bundling them into his sheets just like he used to. This kind of shit was the one thing he was better than the both of them at, taking care of them.

Tommy grabs at him while he’s pulling up the sheets, ‘You too Stevie, you look like shit.’

Which is how he ends up in bed with them, again _exactly like he used to_. Tommy in the middle, Carol resting her head on her boyfriend’s chest, him with his back to them, but head on the same pillow as Tommy.

A large, warm hand brushes down his side from ribs to hips. ‘You sure Hargrove hasn’t been beating your face in again?’ Tommy asks, voice sounding all _concerned_.

‘Thought he was your friend,’ he replies, a mess of feelings spiking in him. All that old anger and pain and all of it, but also guilt and shame, and the weirdness of lying next to a guy he’s— _yeah_, and talking about another guy this guy doesn’t know he’s hot for.

‘Kind of,’ Tommy replies, ‘Not really though.’ And great, now he feels bad for Billy, even though he’s pretty sure Billy wouldn’t even dignify the question of whether _Tommy_ is his friend with a _kind of_.

‘He’s a bit of a psycho,’ Carol pipes up. ‘_Hot_, yeah, but a psycho.’

‘He’s not that Goddamn _hot!_’ Tommy snarls.

She snorts out a laugh. ‘You keep telling yourself that—’

‘What? You want to climb on his dick now too?’

‘At least then I’d actually _be getting some_.’

Oh great, now they’re squabbling next to him. He lets them continue for a moment, hoping they’ll stop, but once it becomes obvious that they’re just going to escalate he sighs, starts getting out of the bed. ‘I’ll go sleep in one of the guest rooms,’ he says.

Finally part of the pattern broken. Usually he’d try and distract them or get them to work it out or feed them or some stupid, pointless— Why did he bother? They’re still fighting and it’s not like doing so made them—

Made them—

Wow. Loser territory again. Now he’s sulking because spending so much of his energy trying to take care of his friends, or whatever they were, wasn’t enough to make them want to stay with him. It’s funny, it’s like it doesn’t even matter to him that it was his stupid words after that _stupid_ fight with Jonathan that are probably really to blame for the breakdown of their relationship, because underneath it all he actually blames _Tommy_, and that fucking _bullshit_ about not being a fag.

If Tommy hadn’t already fractured whatever it was between them all then it could have survived what he said, he knows it could have. They’d have sulked, he’d have acted holier-than-thou, but a few days later they’d have shown up again and it would have all gone back to the way it was. It’s not like they never fought before—

‘No!’ he hears them both yelp, then the next thing he knows Tommy is grabbing him, wrapping both arms around him, and dragging him back down to the sheets in the other guy’s embrace.

He hisses from the pain of his body being jolted, from the tight squeeze around his bruised middle, but after a moment he realises the dark-haired guy is murmuring, ‘Sorry Stevie. We’re so sorry Stevie,’ against the back of his neck and he just— _relaxes_.

It feels good to be held.

It’s been— It’s been a long time. At least since he was held _properly_. Lying down, all curled up together. Not since Nancy—

After a moment he feels the bed move, sees Carol leaning over Tommy to look at him and say, ‘We missed you _so_ much.’

He shifts in Tommy’s grip, trying to roll onto his back so he can talk to them properly, but the guy won’t loosen his hold. ‘I missed you too.’

She makes a happy little noise and lies back down, slinging an arm over both him and Tommy. ‘Good,’ she says, and then, ‘Now, no more stupidity, we all need to sleep, ok?’

‘Ok,’ Tommy answers— except the tone’s weird. Too serious for just being told to sleep. He just doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to be wrong, doesn’t want to be too _sensitive_, and above it all he just doesn’t have the _energy_ to deal with any possible emotional fallout right now. So. _Sleep_.

Which is easy actually. Sleeping. Easier than it’s been in a while, curled up in arms he still thinks of himself as safe in.

—

Something wakes him. The bed shifts again. He hears Tommy grunt. Feels something down there between them— Carol’s stroking her boyfriend off against his ass. A moment later he feels a face nuzzling into his neck, feels a mouth opening against his skin, hot breath panting against him.

He squirms, trying to get out of Tommy’s grasp. This is not— if things were the way they _used to be_— but. But.

The dark-haired guy whines and a moment later he feels Carol’s hand extracting itself, feels two sets of arms close tight around his waist, _stopping him_. ‘Stay,’ Carol says. ‘Please Stevie. We _missed you_.’

‘We should talk about this if we’re going to—’ he begins, but doesn’t know how to end. If they’re going to _what_?

‘Later,’ Tommy breathes against his neck. ‘Later. Come on. Later—’

And he’s not sure who started it but then they’re both tugging on him, rolling him onto his back, and the moment he is Tommy’s leaning over him and pretty much shoving his tongue in his mouth.

It hurts where his lip is damaged, so he shoves the guy back, but Tommy just surges against him, climbing onto him, _crushing_ him where he’s all bruised, hands cupping his aching face and holding him in place. Ok. _No_.

He brings up a hand and punches the other guy in the ribs, not _hard_, but enough to make him yelp and back off a bit. ‘You’re _hurting_ _me,_ asshole,’ he snaps once he gets control of his mouth back.

‘Oh,’ Tommy says, brushing a hand gently across the bruises on his face. For a moment he’s reminded of Billy, touching his face in the back of that cart after they’d escaped the Russians. He shakes the memory off. ‘I’m sorry. I’m _so sorry Stevie_—’ and then the guy just starts mumbling “_Stevie, Stevie, Stevie_,” like it’s some fucking _mantra._

‘Ok, ok,’ he says, trying to sit up and get out from under Tommy, but then Carol is there trying to push him back down. God. He doesn’t even know what he feels right now—

Part of him is excited, wants them to keep touching him, keeps remembering how it used to be— and it would be easy, too easy, to just sink back down into the past, but—

Something’s telling him he’s going to end up getting _hurt_, and selfish as it is, that’s actually not what he wants right now. Huh. He actually _wants_ something.

He wants to hang around with Robin— and _Dustin_— he wants to know if this mythical Susie is actually _real_— he wants to go to the shops and buy some ingredients so he can actually _cook_ something instead of living off sandwiches and salad and frozen meals, and he wants to feed Robin his food and have her look at him with surprise and tell him it’s _good_— and, some part of him, some small _stupid_ part of him wants to get to know Billy Hargrove so he can form a proper impression of the guy.

It’s been _so long_ since life has been anything more than _wakeup, go through the day, try to sleep_—

Still, part of him, and not a _small part_, still likes the feeling of Tommy on top of him. Still _missed_ them. Hopes maybe, just maybe, they could be part of what he wants going forward—

So, great, he’s going to have to be _brave_, and brave in a way that’s apparently harder than grabbing a weapon and preparing to face off with a literal _monster_. ‘If we’re going to do this then _we’re going to do this_,’ he tells them. ‘It’s got to be a proper relationship— or whatever you call it when it’s three people— We don’t have to tell anyone, or anything, but it’s got to be something official between the three of us. And no freaking out. No _calling me a fag_. No telling me _I need to get a girlfriend_—’ he glances between their faces for a moment, waiting to see how they’ll react, before another memory hits, ‘And you _do not_ call me a _retard _again, ok? I know what I am, but I don’t need to hear it from _you_.’

At that Carol swats at Tommy’s head, making him yelp. ‘_He’s very sorry about that_,’ she says, voice as threatening as he thinks he’s ever heard her.

‘I am,’ Tommy replies, nodding rapidly, ‘So sorry. Come on. Let us—’ the guy leans down, going for a kiss again, but he reaches up and stops him, hands in the middle of Tommy’s chest.

‘_Promise me_,’ he insists. ‘Promise me you mean this, because I’m not doing it otherwise—’

‘Come on Stevie, you’re being unreasonable,’ Tommy whines.

He puts a bit more force behind his hands, starts to shove the guy backwards— ‘_Ok! Yes!_’ Tommy yelps. ‘I promise,’ a glance back over his shoulder at Carol and she’s nodding.

‘_We promise_.’

The thing is he’s not entirely sure he believes them, but— he relaxes his arms, curls them around Tommy’s shoulders, tangles his fingers in the guy’s black hair as his old friend surges against him, kissing him like he’s trying to devour him whole. In all the tangle of his thoughts he can’t deny it would be nice to be touched for a while.

It’s not actually a very good kiss. Too rough, too much spit— but it’s still nice to feel wanted for once. And Tommy does seem to want him. Hips grinding almost mindlessly against him until the other guy is basically humping his thigh.

He can feel Tommy’s, short, fat little hardon, and he remembers what it felt like in his mouth, so he groans, his own hips dancing up, even though he’s not really hard. He’s sporting a semi, don’t get him wrong, and the spirit may be willing but the flesh is _weak_— or exhausted and in pain and not wanting to cooperate right now.

‘Oh fuck,’ he hears Carol breathe, sounding stupidly turned on. Next thing he knows she’s shifting around somewhere on the bed where he can’t see, her hands coming up and scrabbling at the waistband of his pants, her long nails scratching at the skin of his belly. ‘Lift up,’ he hears her order Tommy, then again when her boyfriend ignores her. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ she snaps, ‘Come on Tommy! I want to get his pants off.’

That seems to break through enough that Tommy awkwardly gets to his knees and shoves a hand in between them to try and help her out.

‘I can do it myself,’ he points out, but still wriggles cooperatively and then kicks his sweatpants all the way off once they’ve stripped them down far enough.

‘Fuck, look at you,’ Tommy breathes out, pawing distractedly at his half-hard dick, making him gasp and thrust upwards, hissing again at the way the movement makes his bruises hurt. He leans up, catches the other guy’s mouth in a kiss, moaning into his mouth as Tommy settles back down against him, waistband of his boxers pushed down and dick out and rubbing against him.

He still doesn’t get all the way hard, is pretty sure he’s not going to come anytime soon, but still— it’s not bad. He _likes _it—though part of him worries he’d like it even more if it was Billy Hargrove on top of him right now—

_Not cool Stevie. _

It’s pretty obvious that Tommy’s close, grinding away on top of him in a mindless way he finds stupidly endearing right this moment. Carol finally settles in beside them, and he breaks his kiss with her boyfriend to share a quick, markedly less _tongue filled_ one with her, before Tommy grabs his face and turns it back to keep kissing him.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Carol’s got a hand down her panties, the other one stroking up and down her boyfriend’s back for a moment before it starts trying to worm its way between him and Tommy.

_Oh_, he thinks, _she’s going to start stroking Tommy off_, but if that’s what she’s aiming for her aim is way off. He feels her bony little fingers grope at him for a moment, squeezing his semi, rubbing at his balls, before trying to wriggle down further, her nails catching on his taint— he jumps, hips trying to push backwards, away from the scratching presence suddenly at his asshole.

‘Sorry!’ she gasps out, not getting the message, because the intrusive presence remains, but without the sharp edge of her nails. It feels—

_Weird_. Strange. Like, but not like, that time she used her tongue to— and it _is_ kind of _good_, but he also thinks it’s a bit too much, a bit too _intense_ for the first time they’ve touched him in so long, a bit too much of something he thinks they should be talking about first, that she should _ask_ for instead of just _assuming _he’d be ok with— Especially with his head hurting like it is and his body not quite fully cooperating— It’s making him feel like what he wants isn’t even really important, like he’s just a _body_—

He tries to say her name, but the sound is swallowed up in Tommy’s mouth. It’s not quite bad enough that he wants to push them both off him, but his dick is softening all the way now. He tries to say her name again, tries to say Tommy’s—

Fuck it. Ok, he needs to— he gets his own hand down there, trying to block her access, but the moment his fingers accidentally brush Tommy’s dick the other guy is coming, jizz sliming up everything between them.

A moment later he hears Carol grunt, feels her fingers clench into his lower abdomen as she comes too, and then, finally, Tommy rolls off him, shuddering through aftershocks like a landed fish.

He lies there, breathing, listening to them pant, trying not to feel—

_Used_.

After a while their breathing slows, and when he turns and looks at them he sees they’re both asleep. He tries too, for a while, but sleep doesn’t come, so eventually he gets up, wincing at the way he’s all gross with Tommy’s jizz.

Shower, again. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REMINDER OF TRIGGER WARNING FOR WHOLE FIC : References to emotional/psychological child abuse, homophobia, internalized homophobia, ableism, internalized ableism, a brief mention of the AIDS crisis, mentions of biphobia (in the context of people tending to refuse to believe bisexuals exist), regressive ideas about what causes homosexuality, consent issues- in as much as promises will be made that the people making them do not intend to keep, as well as inadequate checking in and attention paid to whether everyone's having a good time or is entirely happy about what's happening- and I am not entirely sure how to tag some of it because it could be seen as skating down that thin edge where a slip ends up in sexual assault territory but I'm not sure it quite slips enough but YMMV- Please do tell me if I've missed any.
> 
> So, just a heads up, I am now sick and will be pretty busy this coming week, so I'm aiming for- not this coming weekend, but next weekend to post the first bit of the next fic in the series. Working title is: By the Rivers Dark- because why not more Leonard Cohen lyrics?- if you want to look out for it. Thank you all so much for reading, and for the comments and kudos!- I admit I was feeling a bit pathetic when I posted the last chapter, so thank you also for putting up with me. I hope you enjoy....

Afterwards he creeps back into his bedroom and gets dressed in a clean t-shirt and a pair of pyjama pants, goes back to the bathroom to fetch his bat, then retreats downstairs to gather up his Scoops Ahoy uniform and drag it to the laundry to deal with, before heading to the kitchen to do the dishes, leaving the bat propped up in the corner. As he works he tries to keep his mind on the positives, he’s got Tommy and Carol back now, he’s got friends, companions, people to curl up and sleep with.

Yes, ok, that wasn’t the best sexual experience he’s ever had— but most of the other ones he’s had with the two of them have been so much better. Tommy’s just stressed about Heather, his aunt and uncle, and when people are stressed they can be _selfish_— and Carol’s probably just stressed about _Tommy_.

It’ll be good. It will be— of course he’ll have to make it clear to them that Robin is _awesome_ and they are not allowed to give her shit— or Dustin. Or Max. Or El. Or Will. Or Lucas— ok, he will concede them the right to give _Mike_ a bit of shit, but just because he’s Mike— and he doubts they’ll give Erica much shit, simply because she’d give it straight back, with _interest_.

As far as Nancy and Jonathan though— maybe he should just try to keep them all separated? He will defend Nancy— and _Jonathan_— if it comes down to it, but he’d rather not have to in case it reminds everyone of— _things_.

And hey, maybe he can even let them in on all the strange shit going on in Hawkins, that could be cool—

Once he’s done the dishes he resists the urge to go out and check the pool, to play that dumb game with himself where he half-convinces himself he can glimpse something he thinks is Barb’s rotting body out of the corner of his eye, or sometimes recently a figure, _moving_, and then has to spend _ages_ convincing himself he’s being an idiot— and, instead, gets out a piece of paper and a pen and starts going through the cupboards, the fridge, the freezer. Making a careful little list in his shitty handwriting of everything he’s out of that he’d usually have— even if that “usually” was back when he was still with Nancy.

Everything’s pretty bare, food eaten and not replaced since he pretty much gave up on cooking once there stopped being anyone to cook for— maybe that’s unfair. He could have cooked for the kids, he just didn’t have the _energy_.

Looking at the cupboards starts making him hungry, which makes him realise exactly how long it’s been since he last ate. _Crepes_ his brain decides without asking him. There’s milk, flour, eggs, butter, sugar and salt— no real cream, but a can of Reddi-Wip since his parents don’t believe in whipping it themselves— actually Crepes Suzette would be good, the way his grandad’s cook used to make before his dad and grandad had that fight and they all stopped staying with the old man over the summer— but there’s not a fresh citrus in the house and he thinks maybe he finished off the last of the Grand Marnier one night, alone, lying out by _that part_ of the pool and staring up at the stars while waiting to see if something would come and get him.

So, crepes with whipped cream and maple flavoured syrup— since he must have finished off all the _real_ stuff as well— and all that’s left is the kind of shit his dad buys. _Real maple syrup_ should not be an _exorbitant_ luxury to a man who collects watches that cost more than he could earn at Scoops Ahoy in a _year_.

As he gets started making the batter he thinks about what he’ll cook once he’s gotten some groceries in. Of course he can’t afford to cook the way he used to, he doesn’t have his allowance to spend on top cuts of meat and French liqueurs, but he knows some recipes that use cheaper ingredients— and he could always try getting a cookbook instead of just making things he’s seen others make— in person or on the TV— or coming up with his own recipes.

He’s started heating butter in the pan when he hears them, and he thinks, _fuck, I knew it_ as he switches off the hotplate and drifts from the kitchen to the base of the stairs, listening to them argue, to Tommy bellowing “GODDAMIT Carol, I’m not a fucking _FAGGOT!_” at the top of his lungs as they storm, fully dressed, from his bedroom.

She’s arguing back, seems to be trying to reason with her boyfriend, keeps going on and on about how much they both missed him, how much she _knows_ Tommy missed him, how the guy can’t hide it, can’t lie to her, that they both _want him_.

He waits, feeling—

Cold. _Angry_.

When they reach the stairs he sees them both, sees _Tommy_, hesitate, before stomping down without even looking at him.

‘You promised,’ he points out.

‘Fuck off Steve,’ is Tommy’s reply. ‘I’m not _like you_.’

For a moment he really, really, _really_ wants to hit the guy, but he doesn’t. Not so soon after they— it doesn’t seem _right_. ‘Ok,’ he says, nodding, feeling strung too tight, brittle, hearing it in his voice. ‘Run away if you want, but you’re not getting another chance. You leave now and my door is _never open to you again_. Either of you. You get it?’

Tommy blows out a breath of disgust and just walks past him, slamming his way out the front door. Carol hesitates for a moment, ‘Come on Stevie, don’t be like that,’ she wheedles.

‘I asked and you _promised_,’ he points out again, because he did. He gave them a chance to back out, but they didn’t, they just— _fuck_. He feels like a girl the morning after prom.

‘He’ll come around, he’s just—’

‘Being a complete asshole,’ he says, which makes her frown.

‘He’s having a _hard time_. We don’t know if Heather will live, and Aunt Janet and Uncle Tom just _died_— so stop being so fucking _unreasonable._’

‘Yeah, well _I_ almost died too Carol,’ he snaps, then sighs, runs his hands roughly through his hair. ‘Just— make your choice. You can stay if you want, or you can leave like he did.’

She looks helpless and a little confused for a minute, before hissing out ‘Fuck!’ and storming out after her boyfriend.

Hah. Hah, hah, fucking _hah_. 

For a moment he just wants to break _the entire fucking house_.

He stands there just breathing, trying to keep a hold on his temper, before storming back into the kitchen. He almost grabs the bowl of batter and flings it across the room, but he stops— he made this, it may not have been that much effort, but he still _made it_, and to waste it just because Tommy H. and Carol decided to treat him like a douchebag treats their date on prom-night—

—

He ends up sitting against one of the kitchen cabinets, curled up as much as his bruises will let him, and quite possibly crying into his own knees. Not cool.

And it’s not like he didn’t _suspect_. They weren’t exactly being all that subtle. Fuck. He is such a _loser. _

He’s always been such a loser.

_Why is it so easy for people to just up and fucking **leave**_ _him?_

_Why is he so fucking unloveable?_

_Why does he even fucking care?_

Fuck, he hates that he’s such a fucking loser. Such a fucking _pussy_.

The phone starts ringing again. He lurches to his feet and rushes over to it, not sure if he wants to hope it’s Tommy and Carol, or if it’s someone else. Another emergency. Another monster. Something to distract himself with—

It’s _Robin_.

‘_Steve_,’ she says, ‘Oh my God. This is actually your number.’

‘Oh shit,’ he says, realising. ‘I totally forgot to give it to you, didn’t I? Or get yours— Wait. How are you calling me now?’

‘Oh God,’ she sounds embarrassed. ‘I kind of called Sandy McEntire— we’re in band together, you know, and her sister is—’

‘Judy McEntire,’ he answers for her. She was a year ahead of him, off at college now— though home for the summer, he thinks. They messed around a bit a few times and she was a regular at his parties for a while there. ‘She gave you my number?’

‘Yeah, sorry. I know—’ she trails off. ‘Is that ok? Not _creepy_ or anything?’

‘Don’t be sorry!’ he yelps. ‘Oh my God you have no idea how happy I am to talk to you right now. How are you? Is everything alright?’

‘I kind of just—’ she lets out a strained little laugh. ‘Yesterday happened right? We were trapped in a Russian base, Billy Hargrove did get shot in front of us and then get _better_, you did go off and, I don’t know? Defeat the Mind Flayer or something?’

‘Not me,’ he answers. There hadn’t really been enough time to talk between her showing up the night before and the military— or whoever they were— taking them all off to interrogate separately. ‘It was Hopper and Mrs Byers. I didn’t really do anything—’ other than get the kids away from Billy while Billy was— suddenly he’s desperate for company. No way he wants to be alone right now. ‘Do you like crepes?’ he asks.

‘What? Crepes?’ and ok, yeah, maybe that was a bit out of nowhere.

‘I was making crepes,’ he clarifies. ‘Do you want to come over and eat them with me?’

‘Since when do you make crepes?’ 

‘Since I was about—’ he thinks for a moment. ‘_Eight_, I think. I haven’t made any in ages, but I don’t think I’ve forgotten how—’

‘Jesus,’ she laughs, ‘Steve Harrington’s inviting me over to eat homemade crepes— ok. Sure. My parents have pretty much stopped freaking out now, so I think they’ll let me go out for a while.’

‘Do you need the address?’

‘Um. No. I don’t think there’s anyone at Hawkins High that doesn’t know where you live. I’ll be there in about ten-fifteen minutes, ok? Will the crepes keep until then?’

Before she hangs up he asks for her number in return. He looks at it and feels hope bubble up in him. She rang, she still wants to talk to him, she might even still want to be his _friend_.

While he’s waiting he goes and sets the kitchen table, puts some coffee on— Robin likes her coffee, or at least she does from what he remembers— and ponders whether he should try to make some lemonade with bottled lemon juice even though he knows it won’t taste right.

‘Wow, this is surprisingly _domestic_,’ she says when he lets her in and leads her to the kitchen. She looks good, wearing jeans and a black top, her hair piled on her head in a messy bun— definitely an improvement on the Scoops uniform. 

‘Well, you know,’ he says with a shrug, not even sure himself what she’s supposed to _know_.

‘Yeah, it’s real—’ she begins, before breaking off. ‘Are you ok? You— Steve, have you been _crying?_'

‘No!’ he yelps, but then. ‘Maybe. Just— I don’t—’ what is he supposed to say? That Tommy H and Carol showed up and then—

Actually. She may be the only person in Hawkins he might be able to tell. And he feels bad, doesn’t he? For letting her share her secret without sharing his own. ‘Have you ever been with a guy?’ he asks, wondering how familiar she is with the shitty bullshit some guys pull to get into girls’ pants. That Tommy and Carol pulled to get into _his_.

She lets out a frustrated groan, giving him a _look_. ‘I like _girls_ Steve. I thought we were cool, but if you’ve invited me over because you somehow think I just “haven’t found the right guy” and you think _you’re_ the “right—“’ What? _No._

‘No!’ he yelps, ‘Fuck, Robin, that’s not—’ he scrubs his hands through his hair, feeling is face burn with embarrassment. He can’t believe she’d think he— ‘I meant— I was asking if you’ve ever had the experience when a guy, like, makes a bunch of promises he’s not going to keep just to try and get in your pants—?’

‘Ah, no. Not _personally_, but a bunch of girls in band complain about it—’ she frowns at him, looking confused, ‘_Why_?’

Oh God, is he actually going to say it out loud. Apparently he is. ‘I think Tommy H— and _Carol_— just pulled that shit on me and— I mean, it’s not like I didn’t _guess_, it’s just that it still feels really _shitty_.’

‘Oh my God, I am so confused. What are you saying? Are you saying you and Tommy H.— and _Carol_—’ she just trails off, blinking at him.

For a moment he thinks he’s going to start crying again, but then he doesn’t, so that’s ok. ‘I wasn’t sure if I should have told you earlier, when you told me about Tammy Thompson and said whatever it was about me not wanting to be your friend if I knew— I mean, I probably should have, but I didn’t want to just make you talking about all this personal stuff about _me_, you know?’

‘Are you saying you’re _gay_?’ she asks, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs.

He shakes his head. ‘I _do_ like girls, it’s just— do _you_ think someone _can_ like both? I mean, I’m assuming you just like girls—’

She nods. ‘Yeah, just girls. I can’t tell you how hard I’ve _tried_—’ she stops, frowns for a moment. ‘You do hear about bisexuals, don’t you? And, yeah, just because I’ve never found a guy hot— there _are_ girls who like guys, and girls who like girls, and guys who like girls, and guys who like guys— so I guess it makes sense sometimes people just like— _both_. Oh my God, are you bisexual? Is _Steve Harrington_ a bisexual?’

‘I think so,’ he says, and it feels weird. A kind of weight off his chest to say the words out loud to someone else, even though he’s pretty much already accepted it within himself. He grabs the nearest other chair and sits down, leaning forward, towards her. ‘I think I’m _bisexual_.’

‘I do not believe this,’ she says, but she seems happy. _Delighted_ almost. ‘I must still be sleeping. I thought I was the only— I dunno, _queer_ kid, in Hawkins. Then it turns out _Steve Harrington_ is too—’

‘Could you maybe talk _to_ me, instead of _about_ me,’ he says, wondering if this is going to turn into some big, stupid deal. ‘Also Will Byers might be gay, but I’m not sure, so don’t go making a big deal about it to him or anything.’

‘You really are not at all like I thought you were,’ she muses, then frowns. ‘Wait, what do you mean about you and Tommy H. and Carol?’

Which is how he ends up explaining it to her. What happened earlier today, but also what happened the time he sucked Tommy off, and _after_ the time he sucked Tommy off, and then he has to go back and fill her in on how it all started and how long it was going on.

‘So Carol just likes watching you two?’ she asks when he’s done, looking both appalled and intrigued. ‘Like, _why_?— though maybe I’m saying that because you’re both, you know, _guys_.’

‘Ah—’ that’s kind of a good explanation for most of it, for earlier, but— should he tell her? He kind of didn’t mention what she was doing that time he sucked Tommy off.

‘No? Then what does she do?’ she asks. ‘Though I can’t believe I’m asking that.’

And now it feels like his face is trying to combust its way off his skull— which is obviously not the best way to make someone stop asking something. Eventually he gives up, mumbles what she did, then has to say it louder when she can’t hear him.

‘_People can do that?_’ she squawks, ‘Oh my God, I did not know people could do that— and it actually felt _good_?’

He nods, resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands and whine in sheer, unadulterated, _embarrassment_.

She starts giggling. ‘What?’ he demands. ‘Robin? _What_?’

‘It’s not about _you_—' is all she manages before she can’t continue, the giggles giving way to a terrible, demonic sounding, wheezing laugh.

‘_What_?!’ he demands again.

‘It’s just that Carol’s such a _bitch_,’ she manages, ‘and now every time I see her I’m going to be thinking about her literally _kissing your ass_.’

Ok. He concedes her right to be amused.

Eventually her giggles die down enough for her to look at him and say, ‘I’ve got to say Harrington, you have had some shitty friends— but I’m here now—’ she hesitates. ‘Um, if you want—? I know we’re not trying to crack some evil Russian code anymore so—’

‘Yes!’ he yelps like a loser. ‘I mean— fuck it. You are awesome and I want to be your friend— even though you probably have plenty of better offers.’

‘What, you think Hawkins is just crammed full of people that are going to invite me round for homemade crepes at random hours of the day?’

‘Shit! Yes, _crepes_,’ he lurches out of the chair and goes to inspect the batter. It looks ok, hasn’t separated yet— he better start reheating the pan— she’s giggling again. He turns around, ‘What?’

‘Just you giving me shit about Tammy Thompson,’ she says. ‘When, you know, _Tommy H._’

‘You know, usually I’d say he’s not that bad once you get to know him—’ he begins, with a bitter little shrug.

‘Oh, he _so _is,’ she replies.

He nods, ‘Total dud.’

She echoes him, ‘_Total_ dud.’

They’re halfway through their second round of crepes because “Oh my God, these are so good! How are they so good? How can you even cook like this?” — and it feels _exactly_ as good as he’d hoped it would, seeing her enjoy them so much— when the phone rings again.

He stops, looks at it.

‘Do you think it’s _them_?’ she asks, meaning Tommy and Carol. ‘Do you want me to answer it for you?’

‘It’s ok,’ he says, getting up and creeping over to the phone like the thing’s a man-eating tiger in danger of pouncing.

It’s Dustin. ‘Do you know Robin’s number?’ is the first thing the kid demands.

‘Uh—’ he glances over at her, ‘She’s kind of here, man.’

‘_Here_ here? At your place?’ the kid asks, and then, ‘Has she been _sleeping there_?’ like he’s so clever and has worked it all out.

‘Um, no. She just came over for crepes—’ and then, to Robin, when she starts asking who it is, ‘It’s Dustin. He wants to know your number.’

‘No I don’t!’ Dustin yelps, ‘Well, yes, actually that might be good, but that’s not why I rang—’

‘Then why did you?’

‘I’ve got Erica here with me and now that we know Robin’s there we’re coming over—’

‘Ok, sure, you know I’m always happy to have you,’ he frowns, ‘but _why?_’

There’s a moment’s pause, then Dustin’s voice comes out half whispered and odd sounding, like he’s holding his hand over both his mouth and the phone, ‘We need to discuss this Billy thing.’

‘What Billy thing?’ he asks, but he kind of can guess where this is going.

‘The _is Billy Hargrove a zombie_ thing,’ Dustin whispershouts down the line, before he can hear Erica telling him off for being too loud.

‘He’s not a zombie,’ he tells the kid.

‘He’s _something_.’

‘Not a _zombie_ though,’ he emphasises. No way does he want to tell Dustin what Billy actually might be. Billy does not seem to like Dustin at the best of times— Wow, yeah, it’d end badly.

‘He’s not there is he?’ Dustin asks. ‘He’s not like— holding you hostage or something, and that’s why you can’t admit what we all saw—’

‘It’s just me and Robin, Henderson,’ he sighs. ‘And a whole lot of crepes.’

He hears Dustin start to say something before yelping, then the sound of him complaining from a distance, before Erica’s voice comes on the line, ‘Now I don’t know if I agree with Dustin’s zombie hypothesis—’ he hears something muffled from the kid in question about it being her idea ‘— but we’re coming over to discuss it anyway— and I expect crepes when we get there.’

Then she hangs up on him.

‘What was that about?’ Robin asks around her last mouthful of crepe.

He shrugs, ‘Dustin and Erica are coming around to eat crepes and discuss whether Billy Hargrove is a zombie—’

She looks at him for a moment, ‘This is a weird town.’

He nods. ‘Definitely a weird town.’


End file.
